


A Change of Seasons: Discovery

by sheiruki



Series: A Change Of Seasons [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Hence the M rating rather than E, Horrible Metaphors, Kinda, Poor Savos needs a drink, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Story within a Story, implied romance between fictional characters, metaphorical anatomical descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheiruki/pseuds/sheiruki
Summary: In which Savos is tasked with proofreading some of Rashkan's poetry - or so he thinks.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Series: A Change Of Seasons [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733266
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	A Change of Seasons: Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers and welcome to the next part of ACoS,
> 
> this story is set a few days after ACoS: Cold, but previous knowledge of that story is not necessary even though there are some references to the events that took place.
> 
> For those not wanting to read through the entirety of my extended universe (although this humble author would be delighted if you did): Rashkan is a vampire and scholar at the College of Winterhold and the protagonist of many of my previous works.
> 
> Enjoy!

Savos Aren seldom ate breakfast with his fellow mages - not because he disliked their company, tedious as it was at times. No, the answer was much simpler: Breakfast was usually over by the time he got up.

But today had been one of those rare exceptions where he had greeted the morning with a surprising amount of vigour, and so, he had decided to spend breakfast with his colleagues. Nevertheless, after discussing the practical application of advanced warding techniques over fresh bread with roe spread and boiled eggs, he longed for seclusion.

When all was said and done, the lonesome archmage was clearly not cut out for socialising.

Just as the door to his quarters fell shut behind him, he caught sight of a suspicious magelight hovering over his desk.

 _Strange,_ he thought. Even stranger was the unassuming journal accompanied by a wax-sealed letter, whose envelope shone brightly in the pale light.

With each step, a sense of dread took hold of Savos, an uncomfortable, nagging hunch that, if his suspicions proved to be correct, the journal contained pages upon pages of kitschy poetry for him to proofread.

Praying to be wrong, Savos opened the letter. Out fell a slip of parchment.

_I warned you: You will make it up to me. - Rashkan_

The handwriting was as elegant as ever, with drawn-out curves and star-shaped dots adorning the Is.

Savos rolled his eyes. Rashkan sure had a thing for needless ceremony and drama.

 _There goes my quiet day_ , he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Although it might not have been fair, he had hoped his friend had forgotten about his little proofreading threat. 

Still, the ice wraith had broken Rashkan's leg, not Savos', and on top of it all, it would not have happened if Savos had not been so stubborn. He owed the younger mer, did he not?

Compared to its parchment companion, the journal looked almost pitiful: Bound in simple chestnut leather, it hardly resembled the colourful, richly decorated works of art Rashkan preferred to use for his poetry. Even the handwriting looked sloppy, hastily scrawled across the pages and smeared with ink splodges. If Savos were supposed to proofread that, he would have to do a lot of deciphering first. 

But that was not the only odd thing about the journal; instead of elaborately worded verse of questionable syntax, it contained prose. 

Rashkan had explicitly mentioned a new set of poetry, had he not? Had he changed his mind? But even if that were the case, he would still have paid more attention to the presentation of his writing, right? 

Savos could not shake the feeling that something was amiss, but then again, who was he to question his friend's decision - that was how that whole mess had started, after all. 

No, Rashkan surely knew what he wanted Savos to read.

And so, ink and quill ready to strike, Savos made himself comfortable in his favourite chair. 

It did not appear to be a complicated story; a young dunmer woman escaping a mundane country life by seeking her fortune in the Imperial City. In the college's heyday, Savos and his friends would have made fun of that sort of book; if there were a plot any triter, pulp writers had yet to discover it. 

He groaned. The sooner he got this over with, the better. He followed the heroine as she marvelled at the sea of faces and illustrious facades of the Imperial City, took in the massive size and height of that _wondrous pinnacle of marble that proudly rose from its core._

For a moment, Savos fought with the urge to get up and indulge in one of the liquid delicacies he kept for special occasions. Alas, his friend probably did not appreciate him slacking his duties as a beta-reader. So, without a good drink to guide him through the agonizing assortment of mystifying metaphors and astonishing alliterations, Savos slumped back in his chair, turned the page, and realised he had hardly made any progress at all.

 _Oh, still so much to go_ , Savos silently lamented and forced himself to stay vigilant, dutifully reviewing page after page for missed mistakes.

By the time he decided to take the first break, the heroine had just become amorously entangled with an imperial chancellor.

Contrary to Savos' remarkably low expectations, not all was lost regarding his friend's prose writing ability; the story's setup needed some work, and the wording was awfully flowery - upon reflection, Savos had never been one to enjoy overly poetic diction - yet he had to admit that the developing intrigues did catch his interest.

Pacing around his garden, Savos stretched his limbs as best as he could and tried to prepare himself for at least a hundred pages more. 

The sun shining in through the small windows high above his head gave away that noon was soon about to pass. If any of that early-morning vigour had survived until that point, it now died an excruciating death. Almost three hours and no end in sight.

Finishing his round, Savos cosied himself up in his favourite chair again, a refilled teacup in one hand, the journal in the other.

_The room was clad in twilight as she slipped through the door dressed in nothing but translucent silk and her own desire. Her Velothi Mountains heaved with every breath; hot sweat erupted from her skin. In the distance, the chancellor's footsteps echoed against the polished marble, coming closer._

_She let the silken nightgown slip over her shoulders and lolled on the bed, relishing the satin embrace._

_"I knew I'd find you here, kitten," the chancellor smirked, standing in the doorway._

_"I hope what you're seeing is to your liking," she purred in response, cocking her head to the side - a silent invitation._

_His smirk became a devious smile as he freed himself from the fine wool of his regalia, revealing chiselled muscles sturdy as the walls of the Imperial City itself._

_She revelled at the sight, ablaze with desire._

_At last, the chancellor crawled into bed, pinning her under him. His breath scorched her skin; her lava domes rose to greet him; her caldera bubbled at the thought of him between her legs._

Prudishness had never been an attribute of the archmage. He too had been a young man, once, many years ago, snickering at the raunchy books his friends snuck into class or the saucy tales they picked up in the many taverns around town. Not to mention that students tended to get creative with certain spells, as he had all too often witnessed during his study of restoration magic. Regardless, Savos was starting to feel - as he was wont to say- unseasonably warm, and the tea was not at fault.

That was certainly not what he had expected from his friend; Rashkan seemed way too straight-laced for something so spicy.

Wanting to relieve his drying throat, Savos took another sip and read on.

_Her wish was granted when his White-Gold Tower pressed against her Oblivion Gate._

Were anyone to enter the archmage's chambers at that moment, they would stumble upon a sight most peculiar: An inconspicuous brown journal on the floor; the archmage rocking in his chair, robes splattered with tea, head thrown back, tears running down his face, howling with laughter as if possessed by the Mad God himself.

Only after his outburst had finally faded into stray snickers did Savos get up and lock the journal in the top drawer of his nightstand. This story was something for late at night when no one would hear him laugh, not noon when Ancano or Mirabelle could barge into the room at any moment thinking he was being murdered.

And besides, he needed to wash out those tea stains.


End file.
